Rootless Flower
by Buddhacide
Summary: A promiscuous, self-indulgent journalist dating a nun, Sei is a gossip columnist for a Japanese-language newspaper in Rome and spends her time partying with cultural and artistic figures and sleeping with celebrities and aristocrats. Her life changes when she attends a concert by Italy's hottest new opera singer, Shizuka. A romantic clash of unique personalities, wills, and hearts.
1. The Pursuit of Emptiness

**ROOTLESS FLOWER**

 **A Sei x Shizuka Fanfic**

* * *

Synopsis: A promiscuous, self-indulgent, and acutely imperfect journalist, Sei writes for a Japanese-language newspaper in Rome and spends her time partying and sleeping with celebrities. Her life is about to change when she attends a concert by Italy's hottest new opera singer, Shizuka…

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 _A/N: Hi and welcome to my shameless homage to La Dolce Vita, one of my favourite films of all time and one that had an unforgettable impact on me personally. I'll say right from the outset that this story is not really original and if you decide to not read because of my shameless tribute to a famous movie (but with grown-up, slightly darker and more emotional Marimite characters in a grown-up AU), I don't blame you in the slightest. For those that are kind enough to stay for this story, welcome! :-)_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Pursuit of Emptiness**

* * *

She awoke with the warm sunlight on her face and another woman's arms draped on her chest. She didn't know much about her, except that her name was Isabella Biondo and that she was one of Italy's most popular young actresses of the past two years - the same time, coincidentally, Sei had been _The Dawn's_ gossip columnist. It was a job that entailed accessing celebrities that usually had PAs and bodyguards shielding their preciously private lives. Sei's job as a journalist was to get past the chink in the armour for the scoop, and that chink wasn't some physical barrier. It was her source's heart.

It all starts innocently enough with Sei, usually with the interview over lunch or dinner. Then you find yourself intrigued by how quickly she takes notes, at how artistic and familiar she seems with the notebook and pen. Your interest is piqued by the effortless charisma, empathy, and curiosity that the skilled journalist blends into an irresistible mix, until you find yourself thirsting for more and happily accepting her invitations for more casual dates like afternoon tea or lunch. She no longer brings a pen or pad. To the protests of your bodyguards and manager, you can't think of much else except that woman's confidence and aura of mystery. You start taking her for tours around Rome because she says she, being Japanese, isn't really familiar with the landmarks (although even you don't believe that).

Perhaps all it took was that winning smile and those languid grey eyes you couldn't forget about when you met first her at that gala or that press conference. It isn't long before you itch for more from her than just a comforting pat on your shoulder. She knows what you want and obliges. A respectful yet intimate squeeze of your arm becomes a gentle finger lifting your chin. Her hand wanders to your waist, and you squirm inside in simultaneous guilt and anticipation. A pretentiously chaste kiss on the forehead becomes a violent, damp snog that ignites and blazes out of control.

The explosive, searing night under Sei's bedsheets (or, occasionally, in another home or a pleasant villa or hotel) is but history.

Sei crawled out of her bed and stumbled into her bathroom to take a cold shower. She lived in a small but retro, tastefully decorated loft a few streets away from Sapienza University. She was at the heart of the cultural and artistic beat of Rome, just how her editor wanted. She wrote for the Japanese expats in Italy, a motley community ranging from humble sushi shop owners to investors of major companies of Italian industry like the big fashion, pasta, wine, and olive oil brands. One thing united her readers: their interest in the gossip of the rising celebrities, washed out stars, and minor, purposeless nobility that frequented the palisades, cafés, bars, avenues, private clubs, and palaces of the Eternal City. And Sei delivered the scoop of this enchanting yet empty chatter to them.

Sei wiped her blonde hair dry and pulled on a white shirt and beige trousers. She was in her bohemian, retro lounge when her guest emerged from the bedroom, rich brown hair dishevelled and Sei's red blanket draped around her.

"And now you'll move on to the next star, and you won't write about me until I'm overdosed on drugs and out on the streets smashed."

Sei laughed. "You'll serve as my muse for much better reasons, I promise you," she said, popping a piece of toast into her toaster on the bench that served as her dining table adjacent to the kitchen. "Feel free to stay for breakfast."

Isabella shook her head, her smile turning sad. "You don't need to force yourself. I'd like to spend so much more time with you, but I like you too much to burden you with that. I'll get changed. Don't worry about me. I'll show myself out."

Sei's eyes shone. "I don't deserve to apologize to you, because that would mean that I thought I was capable of better. I hope you don't hate me for making love to you."

" _Mia Dio_ , not at all," Isabella giggled. "I'm utterly complicit in this." The hurt was still there, but it was a pain that only Sei could make worthwhile. "Just promise me you'll come to my next movie's premiere."

"To each and every one, if you'll let me."

"So be it. I hope it's an incentive that draws you back to me someday."

Sei glided to her balcony and sat down on her creaking chair, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to her lips. She didn't look back at Isabella, who had pulled on her red dress and slipped quietly out of Sei's small flat. Instead, she picked up her IPhone which had been waiting on her small, circular coffee table, and dialled her editor's number.

"Yo, Alessandra," she said, "I need tickets to the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma next Wednesday night, and a press pass to the gala they're hosting tomorrow evening."

"You need access to Kanina Shizuka, don't you?" came the Italian-accented voice over the phone. "Personally tutored by Plácido Domingo... An unprecedented privilege. And her family is friends with some major operatic figures in Florence and Rome. Thanks to her magical voice, Italian opera is taking Japan extremely seriously."

"You know me too well, chief," said Sei, looking down at the bustling street below the rails of her balcony. There was a fruit and veg market every day except Sunday in her area, which meant that it was nice and lively during the morning and quiet at night, which was just the way she liked it. "I want her in our paper and on my column."

"Well, come by the office for once and you'll get your tickets. I'm astonished I haven't fired you for insisting on working at home every single workday."

Sei laughed as she exhaled, blowing a puff of smoke out into the crisp Roman air. "Usually I work at my favourite café, not home, so you're wrong on that count."

"Oh, shut up."

"Hey, I deliver the scoops, plus I deliver you the amazing, mind-blowing head, so there's not much you can threaten me with."

"Tell me, Sei. Have you fucked every woman with even a smidgen of fame or note in this city?"

"Have a nice day, _mia cara_." Sei hung up and walked back inside her flat, pocketing her iPhone and scooping up her wallet and keys on the couch. She pulled on a brown jacket that fit her curves nicely, before opening her door and walking down the cold stairwell in her apartment block.

It was time to go to her favourite writing haunt.

* * *

Café Paradiso was a single-level café that lay in a quiet alleyway, hidden from the tourist-filled avenues of Rome. Its interior was dark but filled with ambient gentle light, with wooden tables and chairs that had decadent but practical red cushions. It also had an outdoor area, which was actually best used during the evening, because it was cold and dark and the atmosphere of the café's candles, combined with its cobblestone and fern leaf surroundings, was magical. Although had played its part in attracting some English-speaking visitors, this coffee joint was still mostly frequented by Italians, and Sei was the only Japanese person who cared remotely about this place.

Well, one of the only people.

"Good morning, Sei-san!" cried a cheerful young lady in pigtails. She wore a smart waitress's dress with a white apron. "Glad to see you at the usual time!"

"Yumi-chan, how are you?" greeted Sei warmly, as she took off her coat and hung it around her chair. "Just the usual. A double shot and some of that great cheesecake."

"Coming right up, Sei-san."

Sei took out her notebook and put it on the table, sitting down. "How's the exchange going?"

"Good. One more year at Sapienza, then back to Japan," said Yumi, as she began to press the fresh coffee (Sei came for the quality of the beans and roast). "I'll really miss Rome, and I don't exactly have the money to come here every year. I almost don't want to leave," she continued, her smile fading. She looked at the many mouthwatering cakes on display at her counter, and took out a slice of white cheesecake. "It sucks that there's no full-time work on offer at this café."

"Times are hard. You're lucky your university's funding for overseas scholarships didn't get cut." Sei watched Yumi fondly as the latter brought over the fresh espresso and cake. "And it's better that you take the skills you learned at Sapienza and bring them over to home. You'll get a higher salary with a foreign degree." Yumi set down a fork and knife wrapped in a napkin, and Sei took the fork and tucked in. "Mmm. The best cheesecake around here. You've given me a sweet tooth."

"You were always the wise mentor, Sei-san," said Yumi, standing across from Sei's table and watching her (there were no other customers). "I'm open to ideas. I'm embarrassed to say that I don't know what I want to do after this Arts degree."

Sei wolfed down the cake and downed the espresso. "Join my paper. The salary's average, but I smoke pot and stuff around with famous people. That's pretty much my job."

Yumi shook her head. "Not quite the life for me, let alone onee-sama."

"Speaking of that, how's your other half?" She meant Ogasawara Sachiko, an heiress of one of the families that owned several Italian companies. A long time ago, though, it was not certain if Sachiko would have ended up as Yumi's other half.

"She doesn't mind seeing your face again, after you and I worked things out," laughed Yumi. "Trust takes time, though. Make a move on me again and she won't forgive you. And, sadly, I've promised I will tell on you."

"Ah, I deserve it. I'm not going to put you through such a hard situation again." Sei smiled guiltily at her. "I've hurt you and Shimako enough."

Yumi shifted her feet. "If I may say so, Sei-san..." She stopped, looking almost afraid to criticize a woman she respected so much.

"Never hold back with me," said Sei softly. Her half-eaten cheesecake lay to one side, forgotten. "If it's one thing I need more than anything, it's your guileless, no-bullshit honesty."

Yumi took a deep breath. "It's not me who you should regret hurting. Shiori-san… what would she think of what you're doing right now? I don't want to sound judgmental, but if I were her, praying in her church - " Yumi turned away in sadness, unable to face Sei. "I'd hate it. I'd hate every moment of how you seek out new women. Of how generously you share your affections with them." She hugged herself, throat dry. "I'm so sorry, but... How could you? Somehow it didn't feel so awful when you were seducing me, but now that you've set me free and I'm looking at you from a distance... It feels... Horrible."

Sei bowed her head. This is what she loved so much about Yumi. "You know about... Shiori's sisterhood. You're one of the only ones who also know she violates her vows every moment she is with me," she replied sadly. "I pledged to devote myself to her and only her a long time ago. She told me to cut the bullshit. That I could never be that kind of person. Yes, we had run away together, and I would love her always, but as long as she was a nun, and she stayed confined to her cloister for the rest of her days..." Sei was no longer smiling. "She consented for me to live life without her. Even if I still do sneak into her church as often as I can. I know it makes her feel worse."

"Just because she gave you permission to, doesn't mean you have to. You know you're hurting her, and she knows you're hurting her too. But it's a mess anyway," cried Yumi, her voice rising briefly. "Whether you stay faithful and date a nun, or go around getting with so many others, you're making some horrible romantic choices!"

"I've told you each and every one of my excuses over the past year, and you've swatted each of them away, as they should be," said Sei helplessly. "Shiori is breaking her vows whenever she touches me. So she has given me license to break my own vows to her." she paused. "Does that sound stupid?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. But I guess it does make sense, in its own perverse way," said the waitress darkly. She turned away. "I can't know what you and Shiori are thinking. I'll always be here for you. But I'll leave you to it for the moment. I should probably keep on the lookout for other guests, even if no one else comes."

Yumi's reminder, expressed in an unusually emotional outburst, struck a chord. Sei suddenly couldn't stop thinking about Shiori as she looked down at her notebook. She raised her fountain pen, which was resting in her frozen hand. She wanted to write, but nothing came out.

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER: SEI GOES TO THE GALA HOSTING KANINA SHIZUKA...**


	2. The Opera Singer

**Chapter 2: The Opera Singer**

A/N: Welcome back to my fanfic (most likely this will be in seven chapters about the love affair between an opera singer and a journalist. I concede that Sei x Shizuka is a relatively rare pairing. Shizuka has barely any relationship to any other of the girls except Sei and Shimako, and as such will inevitably always be a supporting character. Even in my own past stories, I've used Shizuka as a plot device for Sei's relationship with other characters: it's hard to describe the mechanism by which Shizuka plays a supporting role: she is often set up as the woman who "fails" to win Sei's heart (or ends up being a lower priority), so that some other pairing for Sei can be justified, such as with Shimako. This plot device is not always a bad thing, and I'd be a hypocrite to criticise it too much since I've used it in several of my past stories, too.

But this time, it's different.

In this story, Shizuka won't play second fiddle. She will be at the centre. At Sei's centre...

* * *

A journalist's persistence is like a suitor's romantic overtures. Open that miser's hand and get the damned gold, the editor insists to her reporter, and don't come back until you have a quote, a confession, anything. A seductress is somewhat similar. She will not rest until the beloved, already hoping for an excuse to succumb, is given a reason to let go of her old life. Tonight, Sei wanted to combine both wills to power, that of the journalist and the suitor's, to her advantage.

The outside of Rome's premier opera house was swamped with the city's "chatterati." From insulated politicians to high-powered lawyers to the bored wives of Italian shipping magnates and property tycoons, there was something unique and decadent for every segment of this nourished class. But there was another subset within this coterie present tonight, and that was the well-connected journalists who melded and gossiped effortlessly with everyone. Editors of the national newspapers and respected magazines, high-ranking correspondents, columnists, and senior commentators bore the privilege of access to the wealthy as a God-given right: sometimes because they themselves (especially newspaper executives) might have been filthy rich and holding land off one of the Mediterranean islands, but mostly because being a writer of import demanded a certain sense of entitlement: that your opinion on whatever issue you covered mattered, and it had damn better be read by people that matter. It was an arrogance that the rich and powerful respected.

Sei was one of these notorious figures. Resplendent in a white suit with a silver vest and a pearly, shimmering tie, presented her card to the doorman, and he took it with a pearly-white gloved hand. "Miss Satou Sei, _The Dawn_ ," he read. He peered at her. "You are a gem in the crown of our city's social and cultural life. The work you do for this unique paper and the local community can't be overstated."

" _Molte grazie_. Oh, and here's my invitation card," she said, smiling as she reached into her blazer's pocket and handed her invitation to him.

"Thank you, Miss Satou. Please, enjoy yourself tonight." The doorman stepped back and gestured for Sei to walk in. Sei adjusted her collar and strode past the grand wooden doors, which had been thrown open for the gathering. She strode into a venerable hallway that had played host to a pointless mass of important people. The place was packed with men in impeccable, mostly dark suits and women with all manner of different hairstyles and colourful evening gowns. They glided across the cold marble floor, some couples having linked arms, others huddled together and chattering about the latest happenings of the world of elites. Rome was so popular with Europe's hoity-toity, as well as guests from the Middle East and East Asia, that you couldn't predict who you might meet.

Usually, Sei liked to go where she willed, moving from social circle to social circle. She did a little bit of that now. She clasped the arm of a businesswoman, kissing her cheeks, before immediately turning and tapping a middle-aged man in a blue suit on the shoulder. He turned around, and, recognising her as a rival journalist, gave a smirk. Sei returned the sneer and waved at a man who had just caught her eye: the minister of the ministry of Rome's cultural heritage and tourism. Then she offered her hand to the balding, jovial man in front of her: the Duke of Carcaci, an old Sicilian line descended from the kings of Aragon in Spain. A brief exchange filled with empty greetings and superficial updates was all that she needed to maintain her connection to him. In fact, it was all that she needed to maintain her good relations with pretty much everyone. You had to choose carefully what to gossip about: you could complain to your friends that your son had eloped with a shipping family's heiress, or that a certain divorce's costs were spiralling into the millions of Euros. But never share your woes about cancer or psychological issues. There was no prestige or curiosity to be gleaned from such talk of actual problems that needed human warmth and compassion.

It was non-stop socialising for Sei, and she mastered this art of hypocrisy and mutual back-patting to perfection.

"May I have your attention please!" came the MC's voice through a mic. Then came her English translation. It continued thus for the next few lines: Italian first, then English. The waiters and attendants snaked through the crowd, handing out glasses of red and white wine and offering gourmet finger food like cheese, crackers, and steak bites. "Please, I know you're having lovely time, but there will be no boring speech tonight. We have something you most definitely want to listen to." Sei and most of the people around her turned to face a dais that had been put in the middle of the hall, and Sei shifted behind two brunette heads, peering at the temporary podium through the space between them.

"Most esteemed delegates, ladies and gentlemen, tonight's guest needs no introduction, and indeed most of you have come just to see her up close and personal. She is the phenomenal, the delightful, the relentlessly mesmerising - soprano sensation Kanina Shizuka!"

Out of nowhere, the Japanese star emerged from the crowd, as if she had been there all along. Shielded by two assistants, who gently nudged aside people standing in her way, she ascended the podium, and everyone around her erupted in welcoming applause. She was in a delightful pink dress that accentuated her lithe but curvaceous figure, perfectly rounded, bare shoulders that allowed the imagination to linger on the form shamelessly. She wore long white gloves, and her smile was mild but radiant. Even among the beautiful women in this crowd, and there were many, she was a goddess.

Sei stroked her chin thoughtfully. She was surprised by how quickly everyone in Rome's circles had gotten wind of Shizuka's visit. And despite her popularity with her readers, they were mostly Japanese expats and she didn't know so many Italians loved Shizuka, musical genius though she might be. Shizuka stepped on to the dais and gave a bow deeper than what most Italian stars would offer. Even this simple gesture, which came so naturally to a young Japanese woman, earned her a round of applause. But she was not all looks and show. She spread her arms, raising them to shoulder level. Looking grand already, she opened her mouth. And then, to Sei and the rest of the audience's astonishment, a choir of angels came forth from her throat and lips.

Puccini's _O Mio Babbino Caro_. Magnificent. The crowd was spellbound even though she had barely started, her eyes closed in blissful concentration as she shut out the noise, her voice still soaring over the whoops and cheers. The men either were struck dumb in awed silence or hungrily capturing Shizuka's moment on their phones, whilst the women fared little better. Some sighed loudly, while others gasped at just how haunting Shizuka's effortless voice was. She didn't sing for more than a couple of minutes; it was only a teaser, so to speak, for her debut performance next week. But by the time she lowered her arms and bowed, it was as if the whole hall had been clapping for more than an hour. "Encore," came the collective, hysterical cries, "encore!" But Shizuka knew how to tantalize her fans, and she simply smiled enigmatically as her two assistants quickly flanked her and escorted her away, pushing firmly anyone who tried to get close to her. She glanced around, shooting as many teasing, modest glances as she could at the shouting, pushing crowd. Naturally, cries of frustration and annoyance began to break out, even as the insistent, futile cries for another rendition continued to thunder throughout the opera house.

Sei suddenly let out a sharp breath. She realized she hadn't been even breathing for a few moments, enraptured as she had been like the rest. She looked around, and it was chaos. Shizuka, this young Japanese lady, had reduced a full house of nobles, cultural and business leaders, and tycoons to a posse of adoring, giggling, shrieking boys and girls. Sei usually would laugh, partly in scorn, at the mindlessness of these people. But this time round, she couldn't do so without feeling like a complete hypocrite. She adjusted her tie as she slunk away from the rabble. She was rapidly losing the mood to mingle and party with each passing moment. She had even lost her winning smile, which she usually put on just as a mask to stay on top of settings like this. She actually felt annoyed. She wasn't used to not being at the centre of attention. She wasn't used to being relegated to a bystander, at the same cheap level as all the idle rick folk around here.

And most of all, she wasn't used to being caught off her guard by a fellow woman. Usually, she was the one doing the disrupting of emotions, leading the dance of hearts and memories. But Kanina Shizuka was more glorious than even the princesses Sei had held in her arms. And that somehow nagged at her.

She hated herself for it as she brushed by the doorman and stood outside the opera house, breathing slowly as she churned through wild thoughts in her head. She looked up at the crescent moon and the blackness of the night. Shizuka seemed so far away from her - but of course, this was the first time she had seen her and Shizuka hadn't yet noticed Sei - but Sei already felt that itch, that thirst that couldn't be satiated until it was too late and ruin fell upon both parties.

That hunger. The ambition to conquer, to seduce, to capture... and to make someone yours.

* * *

"Did you get a chance to talk to her? Kanina Shizuka, I mean?" asked Yumi, as she refilled Sei's cup of tea (for free, notably: usually Italian coffeehouses weren't big on refills, but as usual Yumi opened up early for Sei, and there was no one around. They considered this their regular little indulgence).

Sei stared at her blank notebook, vaguely aware of Yumi's hand tilting the teapot so that it poured the English Breakfast into her mug. She hadn't slept all night, and it felt good to be out and about in the early morning. "No. I was caught off-guard by the beauty of her voice, like everyone else." She rubbed her forehead tiredly. She felt slightly ashamed of the unpleasant feelings that had coiled around her heart that night, and she decided for the moment not to tell Yumi. But she was okay with recounting the events as they happened. "She's the real deal, Yumi-chan. They weren't just talking her up. I've never heard such a lovely, trained voice before."

Yumi smiled, looking quaintly cute in her black apron and white t-shirt and skirt. "If she's so good, then maybe you can take me with you to watch her sing."

Sei blinked, looking up at Yumi. "What a brilliant idea." She took up her mug and drank a few sips. "I could easily ask my editor for another ticket to next week's show. I've never taken you out on one of my work adventures before. I've got a lot of freedom in this job. Next week would be a perfect time to see Rome together." She beamed up at Yumi, who was really showering her with too much attention in this joint. "Bill, thanks."

Yumi stroked back her brown hair with one hand, her other holding a serving tray. Now that she was in university, she had left behind the pigtails long ago (and she wanted to look a bit older and more womanly among her fellow Italian waitresses). Her eyes shone as she shifted to walk to the counter, to get Sei's bill. Her back was turned to Sei when she opened to ask her an unusual question.

"Do you sometimes have lingering feelings for me, Sei?" she asked, pointedly dropping the honorific. She didn't turn to look at Sei's surprised expression.

The journalist smiled. "Don't be angry at me for my answer."

"Never."

"I will always have lingering feelings for you, even if I never get to touch even your hand or shoulder for the rest of my life. It's bull, you know? The idea you can completely forget about someone who never did an iota of wrong, who never really hurt you..." Sei stared wistfully at Yumi's long, flowing hair. "If you and I were just not meant to be, how could I ever have hated or tried to forget you for telling me that?"

Sei's grey eyes shone with kindness and compassion. _Wow_ , she thought to herself. Yumi still thought about her, despite her deep and unsurpassable love for the heiress Sachiko. When did she ever deserve this small, minuscule victory over Sachiko? But this wasn't about winners and losers. This was about how your love for someone shaped you irrevocably into who you are, long after you've left each other. "I'm a sleazebag. You know that. But I will never, ever try to steal you from her. I wouldn't succeed, and I even if I did I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"You seduce aristocracy and powerful people all the time," protested Yumi quietly.

"Yeah. Human dregs. Not like you or the other Lillian girls."

Yumi shook her head, walking away. "Trying to figure you out makes my brain hurt," she murmured, hugging her tray.

Sei smiled to herself. There was no question about it. She and Yumi still loved each other, in their own weird way. "Make this on the house?"

"Not even for you, Sei-san. Boss will kill me," called Yumi, punching in Sei's bill at the cashier. And with that playful rebuke, the curious moment between the two, like a bubble in time, had popped out of existence, and life returned to its laid-back, easy pace.

* * *

The Lady to Mary chapel is a small church on the outskirts of its mother institution, Vatican City. Sei didn't like visiting churches, because they reminded her of how her life was mired in meaningless crap and banality. Italian churches did beauty better than any others, elevating it to a way to reach the divine. It was a sharp contrast from the beauty Sei preferred to seek comfort in: curves, lips, panting breaths, and even sweeter things. The beauty of churches, in contrast, made her feel guilty. Damn Roman Catholics and their Original Sins. It pissed her off, the idea that shame followed you wherever you went. It wasn't so much that it wasn't a wrong idea (Sei knew about the weaknesses of people well enough), but simply that someone was always watching the mischief she got up to. "Screw you, Maria-sama," she muttered, rising out of her car and slamming shut the door. She shrugged to herself. When the person you cared most about was a celibate nun who had devoted her life to the Virgin Mary, you didn't have much choice but to see her on her territory.

She was waiting outside the chapel, in her nun's garb. So grim. So joyless, in contrast to her tender, loving, merciful countenance. She looked thinner than before, although it wasn't a kind of thinness one got from eating too little. This was a starvation of the soul, or perhaps the heart. Sei looked around before brisk-walking to the nun and pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Jesus. You're so light," whispered the journalist, nuzzling the side of Shiori's face. "You're so bloody frail."

Shiori's hands clutched Sei's shoulders, sending happy shivers down Sei's spine. "I've wasted away thinking about you. Your face is in my head more than God's voice." She put her head on Sei's chest, savouring the quickening heartbeat so evident underneath Sei's white shirt. "I'm going to hell, and I'm terrified. God's abandonment might be a bit less lonely if you were to suffer with me, though. How horrible am I?"

"It's not such a bad prospect," reassured Sei, kissing Shiori lightly on the lips. "But you're not as bad as you're making yourself out to be." She beamed down at her. "My sweet, angelic Shiori."

The disobedient nun looked up at Sei, smiling. "How has work been?" she asked, and Sei always dreaded that question.

"You don't want know," said Sei, and she meant it. Her smile turned sad. "You know how it's been for the past two years. My work... and your promise to me..."

"Confess, and you shall be forgiven," said Shiori, her hands on Sei's chest. "You know I'd rather know the truth than be lied to."

"It's as bad as you think it is," muttered Sei, suddenly unable to look at her the love of her life. This was why she sometimes hated seeing Shiori: Shiori's loving eyes and forgiving smile made her feel guiltier than anything that the world or God could throw at her, and the fact that Shiori _knew_ that they couldn't share a bed with each other or make love to one another made it worse. The fact that Shiori _knew_ all this and gave her blessing for Sei to sleep with others was a delightful compromise in theory, but actually made Sei feel like trash for accepting it. She felt lower than the dregs she talked so dismissively about to Yumi, the very people she mixed and socialized with every other day. "Shiori, I don't deserve you." Sei cradled Shiori in her arms, with a certain kind of quiet desperation. "Maria-sama has really screwed up to land you with someone like me. Yet we can't stop. We just can't stop."

Shiori closed her eyes. "You're right. So don't be too hard on yourself, my love. I'm sinfully complicit in this, and I can't let you go, no matter how hard I try. So I've locked myself up in this chapel to try and concentrate on serving God, but he allows me this terrible, secret indulgence..." Shiori looked back suddenly. "I must go," she whispered, releasing Sei. She looked at her beloved in fear. "Remember what we promised ourselves. No one will know about us unless we permit them to. And..."

"And I'm not betraying you by being with anyone else," finished Sei, hanging her head. This was why she didn't like coming here. She hated herself every time she did.

Shiori smiled, her hand clasped together in front of her. "I'm so happy you could come here, even for a short while. You must go now. few come around here except on Sundays. Don't lose sleep over us. I love you."

Sei laughed out loud, although it was more like a bark. "It's because you're like this, so damn sweet, that I lose sleep." She forced a smile and waved. "See you later." Shiori nodded and went back inside the chapel, her form disappearing behind the old wooden doors. She probably had vespers or some other event the sisters needed to attend to.

Sei got back in her car and stared at her hands on the steering wheel for several minutes before starting up the engine.

She had never touched Shiori's naked body in her life, yet she already desired so much from so many others.

She drove off, away from that hated chapel, where her beloved dwelled. It was literally a cloistered world in which she should have found forgiveness, and God knows Shiori was all too willing to offer it... yet she couldn't find the heart to accept it.

For now she was throwing herself headlong into the world of Roman decadence once more, into the mysterious eyes of her new target for her newspaper, Kanina Shizuka.

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER: SEI AND SHIZUKA: A CLASH OF POWER AND LUST...**


	3. Sweet Encounter

**Chapter 3: Sweet Encounter**

A/N: My apologies for the long delay and technically I am still on hiatus (please see my author profile, which has been updated to reflect my current issues to avoid any disappointment). I was recently inspired by not only my trip to Rome in May but also the film _Roman Holiday_ , which stars the legendary actress and actor Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. It's quite an innocent tale, far more pure-hearted and honourable than the mire of dissipation and self-pity that forms the core theme of _La Dolce Vita_. This fanfic takes after more the latter, but if the opportunity arises, an atmosphere that invokes more _Roman Holiday_ should have a lot of affinity with Marimite.

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

How did she end up here, back on her bed? She hadn't thought about a lot: what she had eaten for her meals over the past several days (she'd forgotten), what articles she had drafted for Alessandra, her editor (she'd forgotten), or who she had on her interview list (she had an updated contact list of a few actresses, artists, and a famous nude model in her notebook, but hadn't followed up on any of her sources).

A week had passed since Sei first saw Shizuka at the opera house. "I haven't even tried to call her since," grumbled Sei to herself, rubbing her eyes as she lay beneath her blankets. The fact was such a shock to her, so unlike her, that she repeated it to herself every so often via a dark mutter or disbelieving grunt. Usually she couldn't stand waking up on her own, preferring to have someone else's tranquil sleeping face or their smooth, fragile back facing her. Too often, boredom and despair at her and Shiori's situation was too much too bear and she just needed someone to be there for her. That was what Shiori the nun understood and permitted, to great personal cost.

But there was something about Shizuka. The mere thought of her was enough to distract and galvanize Sei. She felt alert and restless to the point that she didn't need to blow all her money on after hours parties and social gatherings. Her mind was preoccupied enough. Her heart already felt fidgety and inspired.

She reached for her IPhone, tapping in Yumi's number. "Hey, Sei-san," came the younger woman's lively voice. 'Are you dropping by the café today?'

"Not this morning, my love. I'm going to make some last-minute arrangements. Would you be interested to come to a little opera event, as I promised?"

A shocked pause, and then Yumi's delighted, high-pitched squeal pierced Sei's eardrum. "That sounds awesome! I'd love to come!" Then she suddenly sounded anxious. "All I have is a cocktail dress from last year's university ball. Will that do?"

"Perfect. I'll get my editor to reserve you a ticket. We'll sit together tonight. Meet me outside the opera house at six, sharp."

Sei hung up and stared at the fan on her ceiling.

For the first time in a while, she felt excited about seeing someone. Strange. It was as if she was seeing the world with fresh eyes.

* * *

Another night, another party. Frankly, she'd rather not be wasting time here, making idle chatter with slobbering old men who thought money compensated for good looks and basic hygiene, or with entitled younger scions who assumed she liked men at all. She could go back to her penthouse to practice. Her duplex apartment was private and spacious enough to practice singing for hours while overlooking the city centre of Rome. Shizuka's feline eyes momentarily darted to her right as she noticed the presence of the photographer, hungry for a good shot. She casually initiated some small talk with someone nearby her, smiling mindfully as the grateful paparazzo snapped away at her graceful figure and pose.

Kanina Shizuka had performed in front of many audiences before across Asia and Europe, but this was her first time performing exclusively for the upper echelons of contemporary Roman society. The great names of the pantheon of European music did not intimidate her: Beethoven, Wagner, Rossini, Tippets, Tchaikovsky, Saint-Saëns – she would master them all. And she would prove to her alma mater in Japan, Lillian Academy, that the hopes they had invested in her voice were not futile. For now, though, she mingled among Italian maestros, Japanese patrons and company managers, and has-been celebrities.

"Miss Kanina?" came a gentle but audible voice… a voice that demanded your attention. Shizuka turned, her smile already deployed as her PR manager had trained her. Sometimes she had to maintain the smile even if her eyes were on something unpleasant or someone that she didn't really want to see. But this time, as her eyes fell on the gorgeous face of Sei and her mildly curved lips, she didn't need to pretend to feel happy.

"Hello," said Shizuka, bowing, and she noticed a nervous-looking companion at Sei's side: a wide-eyed girl with auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. Her blue dress was slightly crinkled: clearly she didn't wear it much. Her awkward poise and goofy smile made it clear that she wasn't used to hanging around Rome's cultural and artistic circles. "You are?"

Sei bowed, and so did the girl beside him. "My name's Satou Sei, I'm a journalist for _The Dawn_. I write about culture and art and all that stuff. This is Fukuzawa Yumi, one of my best friends. Could we have a few minutes of your time?"

Shizuka smiled and responded in the way her manager had trained her: "I'm not in the mood for interviews." Not that she minded in principle, since journalists could be useful for promoting her brand, but her manager said that this was the only way to preserve privacy.

"Who said anything about an interview?" said Sei, as she raised her hands, which were clutching two glasses of aged red wine – the finest of the fine, straight from the vineyards of a vineyard that Italian and foreign wealthy patronized. Even Yumi looked surprised. Sei's smile prompted Shizuka to reach out and take the glass. She raised it to her lips. " _Kanpai_ ," said Sei in Japanese. Shizuka couldn't help smiling as she responded in kind, lifting the beverage toward her mouth. How could she not reciprocate the attention this fine woman was lavishing on her?

" _Kanpai_ ," said Shizuka quietly, and the two women took a sip, eyes locked on each other's faces. Sei's expression was friendly, but her eyes were unreadable.

"I've met plenty of women like you," said Sei, "beautiful, talented, ambitious… But there's something distinct about you. You might think I say this to everyone I meet, but I'd already seen you perform last week. If you weren't so special, I wouldn't have come here myself to find you."

Yumi looked embarrassed. She rolled her eyes and was about to look around for a bathroom, but she didn't have to as two Italian gentlemen suddenly approached her, one offering her a glass of champagne, the other propositioning a conversation. Yumi blushed and tried to call for Sei's help, but she was swept away amidst a burgeoning circle of male admirers. Shizuka tittered as she stared at Sei. "You brought Yumi-san to distract the men, didn't you? So that they'd leave me alone with you."

"What a conceited conclusion," said Sei, smirking. "I don't want to risk Yumi-chan's displeasure, so I'll say you're wrong. But…" She glanced at a dazed Yumi, who looked both flattered and terrified at being the centre of attention. She turned back to Shizuka, her smirk broadening. "You _are_ alone with me, now."

"I'd like to correct you on what you said before. I am beautiful, talented, and ambitious. But I'm unlike anyone you've had before," said Shizuka quietly, in a graceful yet unhesitating rebuttal to Sei. "My song will enchant you. Your charms are but dewdrops to my storm. Your infamous lust is positively pure compared to the thoughts I summon as I sing."

Sei raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "Oh?"

Shizuka's hand brushed Sei's ever so tenderly, even though her words came down like a thunderbolt. "Come on, Sei-san. I know why you're really here. Can't you admit that you here to chase me? Because I'm not planning on running away. I've never run away from anything in my life. Even if it was something that would hurt me. I've lost good things and good people. But…"

Shizuka leaned ever so slightly closer, so her gesture was not physically intimidating in any way. Yet… there was something. "I _do_ sense that you're running away in a certain sense…" She smiled faintly. "Journalists aren't the only ones who do their homework. I've met many celebrities since arriving here. They can't help talking about you, and they speak about you, Sei-san, with hurt, longing, and anger in their voices. You collect women like little miniatures, surrounding yourself with them and accumulating lovers almost frantically. A despicable little assortment of shattered hearts."

Shizuka stepped back, smiling faintly at Sei's shocked expression. The columnist was too surprised to even respond. "You're good at playing with people, I'm sure. But I play by another set of rules. If you wish to conquer me, you'll play my game instead."

"What kind of game would that be?" said Sei. She didn't even feel offended, she didn't have the time to. She thought she had called out Shizuka, but it was the singer who was steering the conversation. She had lost control. And how could she describe it? It was… thrilling to finally experience something that she assumed that she was best at, something that she had always done to others. It was electrifying to have one's heart almost surgically examined by a gentle and self-assured expert, to bare the soul in such a way to her.

Shizuka rotated her wrist slowly, pensively twirling the wine around her glass. "Well… when I was a student a long time, I joined a school leader competition just to get the attention of the object of my affection. And now I'm in the best position to earn anyone's admiration. What does that say about me?"

"That you will do anything to get what you want. That you're not what you seem. That you like people to get the wrong idea about you. Who are you?" asked Sei in fascination.

They were very close, close enough to touch or hold each other. Shizuka lowered her eyes, then further down, then back up again. It was as if she was evaluating her. Their eyes met. "I'm someone who knows you better than you think. Someone who might feel like a stranger to you, but to whom you are no stranger." Her mellow brown eyes were defiant in their own way, but not because she hated Sei or anything like that – but as if there was unfinished business between them. But then she said quietly, "You'd better get Yumi-san," while pressing a finger lightly on Sei's collarbone, pushing gently on the other's white shirt. Sei could feel her nail digging in slightly, intentionally: sweet, mild pain. They looked at Yumi, who was giggling nervously and desperately fending off each suitor with a gracious bow and kind words. "And sorry – I have a big day next week in Venice, so I can't meet you again in person until the coming fortnight."

Sei didn't even know or care whether Shizuka was telling a fib. "Where will you be when you're back?" she asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly than she would have liked.

"I'll have my PA tell you," replied Shizuka, visibly pleased at Sei's reaction. "I'm renting a nice apartment in the city, but I can't give you my address in front of all these people, can I?" She turned her back, giving an almost dismissive wave. "I must prepare for the performance. I'll be seeing you, Sei-san… among the many other admirers in my audience," she added, quite deliberately.

Shizuka had departed, but Sei hadn't taken her eyes off her retreating, slender, exposed back. She was still slightly out of it by the time she strode over to the Italian men and yanked a grateful Yumi out of their huddle. It took a few moments for her to speak to her perplexed junior again, for her mind was alight with the realization that, far from being the centre of so many women as she had been in the past, Shizuka was now the sun around which Sei and so many others orbited. The singer had given her an unprecedented challenge, and all Sei could do for now was to watch helplessly while she gave her voice to a crowd of hundreds.

No, it wouldn't be enough. She wanted to hear Kanina Shizuka's soft cries and moans alone, all to herself.

Horizontal break

 **NEXT CHAPTER: SEI AND YUMI AT THE OPERA – AND SHIZUKA PUTS ON A REAL SHOW…**


	4. Memories and a Heavenly Choir Member

**Chapter 4: Memories and a Heavenly Choir Member**

* * *

Apologies, once more, forbearing reader, for the delay as I can't promise frequent updates (you can check out my author profile). However, thanks to a minor surge of inspiration, I can execute the planning I had done for this story many months ago. Thank you very much for your patience, and thank you for reading this AU fanfic of a much more melancholy, adult Sei!

* * *

Yumi had never been to a proper concert before she came to study in Italy, and she was never really that interested in opera either. This of course changed after she had met Sei, who by that time was had just moved to Rome to cover the capital's vibrant cultural and artistic life. While Yumi couldn't fake interest in much of what Sei reported on (to try would feel pretentious to her), she did enjoy dressing up for an evening of music, followed by a quiet and intimate four-course dinner and coffee with the columnist in the heart of Rome's ancient landmarks and modern cafés. She would never be an aficionado of art and culture, but she was happy enough that Sei had opened up this world for her.

Yumi still remembered the first impression of the woman who would come to shape her as a woman, consciously and unconsciously. She could recall the first time Sei had come to her café, a bit too early in fact: it was 6:36 and Yumi usually arrived at 6:50. Here was the older woman, plopped down against the chipped, nostalgic brick wall, scribbling intently away at her small Moleskin notebook, her trousered legs casually and unconsciously splayed open as Yumi's bicycle skidded to a halt. Thin, unremarkable, but surprisingly tall body in a double-breasted beige jacket that hinted at an appreciation for fashion that did not spill over into the obsessive. Her short (intentionally dyed?), blonde hair was a bit thick, with bangs spilling down her forehead and giving her a charmingly unkempt look that still (just) kept within the bounds of presentability.

She glanced up, and partially closed her legs. "Good morning," she said, somewhat hesitantly, peering at Yumi, who looked Asian and Japanese, but Sei had gotten along just fine speaking Italian most of the time. She had guessed right.

"I'm sorry," stuttered the out-of-breath Yumi in accented but good Italian. She dismounted and planted her bike against the wall and grabbed her backpack, which contained her work uniform and apron. "We're not open until seven thirty. I hope you can stick around, though. We have a wonderful breakfast menu, with some of the best espresso around and some really good Nutella croissants. Although," she giggled, "how can anyone get anything wrong with Nutella?"

Sei peered up, barely moving her head. "I'm too lazy to head elsewhere. Could you open up early for me? It's an awfully big ask, but I'm on a roll with this piece, and I don't want to lose my flow," she said in a slight drawl, giving the impression that she cared, but just barely.

"You're a writer?"

"A poor man's version of a writer. I'm a columnist. Someday I will quit my newspaper, so I can really write."

Yumi giggled. She still didn't know who she was, but she liked her. She peered up at the slowly brightening sky – the dawn was peering over the horizon, and the fresh air and new guest by her café seemed to herald something quite exhilarating. "I guess it is okay, since the morning shift is always just me. My boss won't know. Come on inside."

She unlocked the old door to the café and hurried in, rubbing her hands. The interior was sparse but touristy, with only a few framed movie posters of classics set in Rome (even Yumi knew about _La Dolce Vita_ and _Roman Holiday_ , whose square-jawed, manly stars graced the nostalgic mounts). Yet there wasn't a great need for too much to festoon the interior, because the lovely stone walls already lent an ambience of comfort and homeliness. "Have a seat. What would you like?"

"I want to have what you recommended. Just the espresso – single shot," said Sei, throwing her jacket around the chair. She plonked herself down, stretching her arms and shoulders like she owned the place. "You're a student?"

"How did you know?" asked Yumi approvingly, as she got the coffee maker ready and opened a bag of fragrant, bitter beans. After taking this part-time job to supplement her income (she didn't want to eat cheap pizza bread and instant ramen every night, and dining out in Rome hit her wallet hard), she'd learned to appreciate from her portly Italian manager the beauty of a classic, perfect cup of Italian coffee. If she got a raise as he promised, she might even be able to do a trip around the country, to sample the varieties of delicious coffee each region offered.

Sei's eyes sparkled, and she suddenly began speaking in Japanese. "There's something about students that set them apart from an older expat like me," she said as Yumi prepared the espresso, "nothing too mysterious about my guess. You just look hopeful, young, and beautiful – boom! Must be a student from abroad."

Had it been anyone else who said that – especially if they were older and male – such words would have come across as completely creepy and inappropriate. Since they came from Sei, though, and everyone knows Sei gets away with anything she wants, Yumi gave a flattered giggle instead. "You knew that I'm Japanese, too. Do you ever get anything wrong?"

"I'm a Tokyoite too. I can make educated guesses. Where are you studying?" asked Sei.

"Sapienza. So far, so good. I love the campus and it's great meeting new people. I even met another Japanese exchange student, Yoshino-san. We're inseparable now," responded Yumi, pouring the fresh espresso into the small espresso mug and walking over. "Here you go…?" She paused in embarrassment.

She was just a waitress. She had no business asking a patron's name.

"Satou Sei, but you can just call me Sei-san. And yours, sweet young lady?" said Sei, smiling.

Yumi clutched her hands together, suddenly feeling shy and vulnerable. "Yumi, Fukuzawa Yumi – oh, I barely know you, and yet – oh, Sei-san!"

Sei put down her pen indulgently. She could elicit and encourage delicious desire like no other. "No one's here, anyway. Why don't you sit down and keep me company?"

It didn't look like she was going to get much writing done this morning.

* * *

In her slightly crumpled formal dress, Yumi snapped out of her reminiscence about several years back at a particularly high note from Shizuka. Those were the good old days, she thought fondly to herself. Sei could still make her quake and shudder in exultant, helpless openness, but the difference back then was that Sei seemed to come from on high; she was on the verge of being so good that she was too distant from mere mortals. But tonight put an end to those misgivings.

High up in their booth, looking down upon the opera house's stage, Yumi never imagined that she'd now be sitting beside her surrogate mentor and confidante, who was watching in utter amazement at the maestro who stunned the audience with her angelic voice and total command of the operatic art. Granted, _everyone_ was enthralled. How could they not be? Shizuka was amazing, and not just by Japanese standards, which always had been pretty good, but by _Italian_ standards, by global standards – she was the real deal, and she drew the assembled listeners deeper into her spell, her singing.

Yumi felt her heart pounding in thrilled fascination. She had never seen Sei like this. She felt slightly guilty for paying more attention to Sei than to Shizuka, but this was so… weird, so surreal. Sei was looking at Shizuka in the same way Yumi watched Sei way back then – with those eyes of utter fascination and, yes, adoration. Perhaps infatuation was the better word, but whatever Sei's true feelings – perhaps she herself hadn't figured them out – Yumi knew that these emotions were new to Sei herself.

Sei, evidently, had never experienced such a surge of interest in Yumi… in her Italian editor… or even Shiori, her one true love.

No, this singing angel Shizuka was something else entirely; something that Sei sensed just earlier in the foyer of the opera house when she drew Sei into her orbit, effortlessly countering Sei's charm and matching her volcanic sensuality with her own.

Yumi couldn't help wondering to herself: what did Shizuka see in Sei? And what had Shizuka done to bewitch Sei so?

What was happening to the woman Yumi loved?

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER: SATOU SEI. COLUMNIST. DICTATING. SEDUCING.**


	5. Mastery

**Chapter 5: Mastery**

* * *

Welcome to a new chapter of Sei's story as an expat columnist in Rome, writing about and partying with beautiful women of art and culture. She is a consummate seductress, and by her own admission a whore for attention and bodily warmth. Meet the girls in her irresistible, glamourous orbit, from uni student Yumi to ordained nun Shiori. But Sei has a new target for her affections: the rage of Rome's cultural scene, the ascendant opera star, Kanina Shizuka. What lies in store for this mischief-making journalist and her mysterious match?

* * *

Her editor, Alessandra, had been bugging her for over three weeks – an eternity in journalism time – to get on with it and send her something, anything for her column. An intern had been ghost-writing Sei's column over the past fortnight but anyone could tell that it lacked Sei's touch, the biting wit and sarcasm that got her in trouble so often yet endeared her to so many. Given her truancy, she still would have gotten an earful from the managing editor even if she had bothered turning up to the office with a month's worth of articles. To make matters worse, she'd put her phone on silent, not bothering to answer.

There was no way she was getting away with running away this time.

She was behaving like a bratty child. She thought she had left that phase behind long ago, the era when she would sulk and throw tantrums and she would only stop when she got her way or when the world denied her – just as it had denied her and Shiori of a normal, healthy relationship. Just as it had denied her…

Denied her…

Of who?

Oh, who was she kidding? She knew exactly who.

What on Earth was happening to her?

Sei enveloped her cool body in a bathrobe as she stepped out of her bath. She had treated herself to a long soak, thinking long and hard about everything, her ruminating punctured by stares up at the paint-peeling ceiling. She felt her fingertips growing wrinkled, turning into delicate raisins. It took her over half an hour to actually snap out of her absent-minded trance, to wash herself with some bath gel, before stepping out and wrapping her body in a fluffy and comfortable white bathrobe. She inserted her feet into a pair of bunny slippers and walked out into her living room. She stared at the open notebook on her bench beside the open kitchen. Her laptop. Her phone, lying beside it, with several Whatsapp and Facebook notifications flashing on the idle screen.

She pursed her lips.

She could lie to herself all day long. She knew bloody well what was up. Shizuka. That maestro, that masterful performer, how _normal_ she made Sei feel, who usually felt at the centre of the universe. That night, the singer cut Sei down to size, reducing her to simply one of the many fans and journalists who begged for something from her – an autograph, a quote, a hug, anything for Shizuka's stardom to rub off on them, even if it was just a brush of the hand.

Was it jealousy? No. No, it couldn't be. Sei might have her own fanbase and known plenty of adoring women throughout her career, but she really meant it when she protested to her sceptical editors that she couldn't care if she lost it all. Competing with others for recognition and fame was not what she lived for. No, she wasn't jealous of Shizuka. It was quite the opposite: she was jealous of everyone else for attracting Shizuka's obligatory attention.

In other words, Shizuka had reduced her to a fangirl, just like all the others that swarmed around her that night at the opera.

And she hated it. She hated it because deep in her heart of hearts, she wanted to know more about Shizuka.

 _I'm stuck. I've got to try something. If I stuff up, so be it. But I've got to at least try_ something.

Sei wasn't sure who she was, but what was certain was that she was a columnist. She was an opinion maker. She was a storyteller. It was time that she reminded herself of just how far she'd come. Of just how much power she had. Yes, Shizuka may have temporarily made her feel helpless and wobbly. But she had a weapon too. The pen was mightier than the Shizuka, or at least, that was what she wanted to believe. Whatever. She was a journalist. Her only weapon, her way of making war so that she could conquer and make love to her spoils, was to write.

And now, she would dictate.

She picked up her IPhone and dialled a number, pressing the speaker icon so that she could walk to her sink and wash a mug. She waited for a few seconds, before a high-pitched, slightly panicked voice came from the other end. "Miss Satou? It's been a while… I thought you didn't need me anymore."

"Well, I assume the paper has still been sending you cheques, so even if I didn't assign you anything, you'd be okay. How have you been?"

"I'm fine. I'm just… surprised that you called. I mean, I'm happy. I felt really guilty, being paid but with nothing to do. I mean, you used me for a couple of articles every month, and then you just kind of disappeared."

"I'm sorry, Viola. But I need your stellar typing skills once more. I have an article in mind. I need to send it to Alessandra in a few hours. Can I count on you?"

"Always, Sei. Please. I already opened Word. I'm ready."

Sei fell silent for a few moments as she adjusted the collar of her bathrobe. She inhaled, closing her eyes for a few minutes.

Then she began to speak.

"There's a new queen in town," she said aloud, and the _clack, clack, clack_ of Viola's keyboard could be heard on the other side of the phone. "You'd think I were exaggerating, since we all know that Rome is the city of the best, the most beautiful, and the most ambitious opera singers. I've written plenty about them as they come and go, rise in their fortunes or fade from the spotlight. I've watched singers from around Italy and elsewhere seek their fortunes in Rome, where your name can be as enduring as the stone monuments to undying glory." She paused. "Keeping up?"

"No problem," came Viola's voice on the other end.

"Yet the opera scene here has stagnated precisely because we have too many queens of the conventional. The dirty secret that we Japanese and Romans share is that performers and artists feel the city is becoming more and more constrained, like a beautiful corset that presses too close to a girl's torso and waist. Stefania Bonfadelli prefers to lend her soprano talents to houses around Europe. The magnificent baritone Alessandro Corbelli is a famously an established name for Mozart and Roselli, but when will he choose an artistic heir? Even non-Italians, as much as they love Italian operas, do not always see Italy as the centre for the flourishing of the art.

"So, what to do?" wondered Sei aloud, rubbing her chin as she leaned on her kitchen bench. She smiled as she listened to the relaxed but rapid tapping of Viola's fingers on the keyboard at the newsroom. "Whoever will be the saviour of us whimsical, fickle consumers of song?

"I have the solution. I have seen her in the flesh. In fact, many of you would have heard of her. She is not an Italian, but one of our own among the Japanese community. She returns to Tokyo in a few days, but she will return for her tour. And I call for her to come back to Rome at least a few times every year," dictated Sei insistently, her voice beginning to smoulder with yet-to-be-satiated passion. Viola's typing intensified in tandem with Sei's words. The column was taking shape. The premises of the article were established, and now Sei was about to make her main pitch. "Her name is Kanina Shizuka, and her fame has deservedly skyrocketed around here. When I saw her sing in my booth, amidst an illustrious audience of hundreds, I felt like I was the only one in the auditorium. She sang only for me, yet to my deluded outrage, I hated that others heard her voice. That is how good she is. She makes you want to get into a punch-up with the other listeners.

"I could go on and on about her technique, but in time there will be more written about her career and approach to opera than any other Japanese star. That is my prediction." She paused, staring out her window and onto the street below. Everything suddenly looked brighter, more colourful: the people, the clothes they wore, the old buildings of the neighbourhood, the balconies and railings, the fruit and food stalls below her apartment.

"Sei?" came Viola's voice, after a few moments' silence. "I've caught up."

"Right. Something about technique, Shizuka's career…" muttered Sei. "Right. The piece needs to be all about her. I'm going to write about her stage presence, Viola. How she captivating she was. How she bewitched everyone." Her silver eyes shone. "How she enchanted me."

And on Sei went, until she had said everything she had wanted to say. It was her confession, masquerading as a newspaper article. It was her cry to the world, masking a cry aimed at Shizuka only. That was her prerogative as a columnist. Shizuka might have denied her their night together, but by God, she would not let Shizuka flee her attention and favour so easily.

* * *

"It's done," came Viola's voice through Sei's phone. She sounded tired but very pleased – it had taken over two hours of dictating, frustration, and revising, but they had had something to show for it all, and the finished work was fantastic. Sei was satisfied with it too. "I'll send it to Alessandra as soon as I tidy it up."

"You're a lifesaver. Thanks for your help. If the editors shout at you, tell them it's my fault for being late." Sei hung up and opened her kitchen cabinet tiredly, grabbing a jar of chocolate cookies. She needed some sugar. She stared blankly at nothing as she munched away happily, her mind running over what she had just sent to her editor at the paper.

She put a hand to her face, rubbing her brow in near-disbelief at what she had just done.

When was the last time she had desired someone so badly, so badly that it hurt, that she would throw down her professional gauntlet for her?

"Shiori… I think I'm going mad," she murmured.

"Shizuka…"

* * *

NEXT CHAPTER: SHIZUKA'S ANSWER.

THE CONVERSATION BEGINS…


End file.
